It boasts a premium roast and it was accurate in both taste and price. I sat at a window seat with my Charles Bukowski book of poetry and opened it randomly to this:
I'm glad when they arrive
and I'm glad when they leave
I'm surprised how alike he and I can be. Especially since he's a dirty curmudgeon old alcoholic that lives in a shit hole in Hollywood, screws around with chicks all day and writes books. Or at least he did until he kicked it in 1994. And I'm generally a cheery quiet girly girl who is afraid of drinkers and lives in a swanky apartment off of über posh Montana Avenue in Santa Monica, California and writes books.--Scarlet from Love is a dog from hell, Charles Bukowski
But maybe that is exactly why I like him. We meet somewhere in the middle. He coming in from grunge-ville and me from swank-city to meet at true human thought in between, where we both admit (but only in print) that we are glad when they arrive and are equally glad when they leave.
I wondered about Bukowski. In this book, he got it on with so many pretty ladies. Got me wondering if most people are getting it on and I'm missing out. Spending all my time writing in my journal when I should be strutting my stuff at some club somewhere.
Oh but that thought makes me tired. It's just not my thing. Instead, I'll read about it in poetry, sip my $4 drip coffee, watch people do laundry and hope that my next romp happens with someone who is more like me than Charles Bukowski.